Random Drabbles
by Ambrelle Shirak
Summary: A collection of not-quite-drabbles, and half-finished thoughts for my G.I.Joe AU.
1. 001 : First Kiss : Nightshade

Prompt 001: First Kiss

**Nightshade**

She'd gotten herself into a precarious position, yet again. Nightshade was good at that. Sometime during the firefight, she had gone off the edge of the ice bridge. Now eight Joe's gathered around the spot she had gone over, trying to figure out the best way to get her out of that position. Nightshade hung onto an outcropping of ice and snow; her eyes were closed tightly so she could concentrate on hanging on.

Frostbite had attempted to lower her down a rope, but when Nightshade had made a grab for it, the grip she kept on the ice had slipped. They lacked the equipment for this kind of rescue, having left the Snowcat's nearly ten miles back. In the end, it was Snake Eyes who came up with the solution. He wrapped the rope around himself, improvising with knots, and carabiners. The free end of the rope was given back to Frostbite, who did his best to anchor himself down. The six other Joe's all caught on, and grabbed part of the rope.

Carefully, Snake Eyes lowered himself over the edge of the ice bridge. As he dangled there, and touched Nightshade's taut back gently, he saw just how terrified she was. When she turned her head, and cracked open an eye, she attempted to put her brave face on. Holding an arm out, Snake Eyes asked her one more time to put her trust into him.

It was blind faith. He'd come through for her on so many other occasions, that there was no reason to believe this one. She let go of the ice-cropping and grabbed onto his arm, with both hands. The line jerked hard, and the two of them dropped about five feet. But slowly, they began to be pulled up. Nightshade practically climbed up Snake Eyes' arm, until she could put her arms about his neck. Resting her head against him, she fought to breathe. Above she could hear the sounds of synchronized pulling. It was time to act. No time like a brush with a deathly 100-foot drop.

Picking her head up, she held herself back slightly, just enough to study his visored, and masked face. Then without warning, her arms tightened around his neck, and she brushed her lips gently against the fabric of his mask.


	2. 003 : Numb : Nightshade

003. Numb

Nightshade

The old man pats her on her shoulder once. He walks away, slowly, steadily; his feet tapping an uneven rhythm on the hard-packed soil. It all slowly recedes into the background. She stands on an arid hillside, marked with three or four dozen little piles of stone. Each cairn represents a body, lowered into this mass grave. The old man no longer remembers which grave belongs to which soldier. In her hand, she grips a dented set of dog tags. She squeezes her hand so tightly, her knuckles are turning white.

Her fingers are numb. Blunt fingernails dig into her palms, but she doesn't feel any of it. The hot desert wind stings her eyes as she begins to pick her way down the slope. _Just pick one_. A tiny voice inside her whispers. _Pick one for him_. She crouches suddenly, blinking her eyes against the harsh wind. Her fingertips uncurl from the tense fist, just long enough to brush against the topmost stone of a cairn.

The dog tags chime at the end of their chain, spun by the wind into a helicopter-like propeller. "Eric." She whispers the name, and closes her eyes. She's already mourned for so long.

Funny, how now, confronted with his grave, she feels nothing. No anger. No pain. No sorrow. There is no closure here. Nothing but emotionless piles of rock.


	3. 004 : Broken Wings : Nightshade

004. Broken Wings

**Nightshade**

She wasn't trained for this. Air battles did nothing for her sense of self-worth. Thinking in three dimensions was hard. She often forgot about 'above' and 'below'. Sure, she had basic skills; every Joe was required to undergo a certain number of hours of flight training. In a pinch, she could pilot her way back to base, or at least safely land.

But what to do when one engine was shot-out, burning and smoking on her wing, completely escaped her. She wrestled with the controls, failing to keep the jet from a death-spiral. Unable to contain her fury, she punched the console, and then swore at the shock that traveled up her arm. She wouldn't survive this. It was definately just time to give up. She gave the yolk a shove, and watched the earth rush up to meet her.

Nightshade flinched at the sound of glass shattering, metal tearing and the jet-fuel exploding upon impact. The cockpit screens went red with fire, then black as the power to the simulator was cut. Behind her, a small door popped open, and Ace stuck his head in.

"Congratulations, on your eighteenth death," he reached out, clapping her on the shoulder. "Shall we try for nineteen?"


End file.
